


The Way Things Ought to Be

by RocketRabbits



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fudged the timeline, Getting Together, James Lives, M/M, Multi, What vanessa asks for vanessa gets basically, Wilson fisk has a lot of compassion in him for a ruthless criminal, minimal dialogue, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 08:38:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17763470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RocketRabbits/pseuds/RocketRabbits
Summary: Were it anyone else, Vanessa couldn't have stood for it. But James Wesley belonged there.





	The Way Things Ought to Be

**Author's Note:**

> This doesnt exactly match up show timeline so sue me

Were it anybody else, Vanessa couldn't have stood for it. Vanessa Marianna was a woman of poise, of standing, of fun and love and freedom, but not without an ever present undertone of order, of rules, of the way things ought to be. Wilson Fisk ought to be the rightly-hailed savior of Hell's Kitchen, Vanessa ought to be at his side-

And James Wesley ought to be there, too.

She'd have been a fool to step into Wilson's life and not notice Wesley's presence, only ever a foot behind or a room away. Wilson's voice, soft like paper, poised to cut, bends a little at the edges. "Wesley is-" he pauses, swallows the idea of an emotion, breathes "very dear to me," in a tone that is so terribly fond she almost feels it.

She speaks to Wesley, first, when Wilson takes a phone call around them both.

"I've heard such glowing things about you," she says, admiring the cut of his jaw, "I'm almost surprised to see just a human being."

"I could say the same," Wesley offers.

"You're an incredibly lucky man, Mr. Wesley, to have known him so well for so long."

He smiles, a quick thing, a warm one. "I am an incredibly lucky man," he agrees.

 

Vanessa knows not the depth of Wilson's devotion, hadn't pushed it or bent it or found need to test it, but she knows he is a man of principle. She knows he wouldn't pursue what he did not truly believe in, so she can't find it in her heart to be jealous, not when Wilson lumbers from her hospital bedside to Wesley's. 

 

"Wesley," he says, voice jagged in the way it had been with Vanessa, carding his hands through James' hair, down James' sides, pressing firm kisses to his forehead. "James, I couldn't- I can't. Not without Vanessa. Not without you."

He'd told her the same thing- how lost he'd be, how empty, she'd seen him stare at the palms of his hands, thick and empty, and she'd seen them worry their way into fists. Vanessa brings her hands over them, small and strong against his whitened knuckles, brings them to her lips. "Wilson," she soothes, but the coarseness of her voice only makes him shakier. "Wilson, you're it for me." He pets her hair, smooths her face, gentle and warm. "I couldn't keep you from him, Wilson. Not if I wanted to."

He kisses her knuckles, her forehead, her cheeks her eyes her lips, murmurs his devotions and about arrangements to escape to Italy that she will not accept, and he tells her they'll talk about it later, when she is well, when Wesley is well, when they're all safe.

All the same, in moments between sleep and lucidity, Vanessa sees Wilson's hands, gentle and warm as she knows them to be, wrapped just as tightly around Wesley's unconcious ones.

Minor poisoning heals easier than bulletholes, but Wesley wakes up twenty four hours after emergency surgery. "That secretary-" he mumbles, but Wilson shushes him before anyone else can, Wesley, Wesley, James. You're safe. It's been a day. Narrowly missed your heart. Vanessa drifts in and out of focus on whitened knuckles, hushed threats aimed at the world outside the hospital room, Wesley's raspy reassurances. She notices he cups Wilson's hands the same way she does.

Wilson does, reluctantly, leave their sides. He has business to attend to, after all, the city doesn't sleep, and Wilson can't either. Vanessa and Wesley wake up at the same time, both hazy, sipping plastic cups of water. 

"You're an incredibly lucky man, to survive being shot like that," she says.

Wesley sighs, a short and tired thing. "I am an incredibly lucky man," he agrees.

"Wilson made sure they tended you carefully. You should heal up fine, in time."

"No need to worry about me," Wesley answers.

"You look at him the way I do," Vanessa says. Wesley doesn't bother to answer. "He looks at you the way he looks at me." He cocks his head, but doesn't answer, taking a pointed sip at his plastic cup of water.

 

Wilson comes back. Of course Wilson comes back. He makes a beeline toward her bedside, leans beside it to kiss her, gentle and warm and awed, like he still doesn't expect her to still be here. "Wilson," Vanessa says, smiling, "greet him, too."

Wesley cocks his head, again, a gesture that barely rustles against the hospital sheets, but he doesn't have his glasses, so he can't focus on the pair of them. Wilson straightens at Vanessa's side, turns to Wesley. He looks away, but he doesn't put his glasses back on. Wilson takes Wesley's hand in his own, brings his knuckles gingerly to his lips. "James," he says, deep and steady. He does not ask. Wilson Fisk rarely asks, but Wesley nods yes, anyway.

 

It is the way things ought to be.


End file.
